


A Version of Jim!Spectre's Origin

by YarvaDaemonicusEtrigan



Category: DCU (Comics), Spectre (Comics)
Genre: Death, Gen, I did the mash I did the origin mash!, Is the dialogue anachronistic for the 1940s? probably!, Secret Origins, The Presence is still a bag of dicks, headcanons abound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23767372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YarvaDaemonicusEtrigan/pseuds/YarvaDaemonicusEtrigan
Summary: Exactly what the label says. This is my version of how Jim Corrigan became the Spectre (based more or less on the original 1940 version)
Relationships: Jim Corrigan/Clarice Winston
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this up for an rp group I'm in. Decided to post it here too for the sheer hell of it.

**July 23, 1940**

  
**New York City**

Jim Corrigan had never thought he was the marrying type. Not that he didn't appreciate the ladies, but he'd never really figured that any of them could rope him into something serious. Setting aside that he enjoyed playing the field, there was his job as a detective. It was dangerous and there weren't a lot of women who could be understanding about too many long nights on stakeout when he should have been home with them, the obsessive focus when he was working a case, being in a lousy mood when a perp got away. Only a crazy person or a saint would want to marry that.

That was why Jim still couldn't quite believe that he'd found Clarice. It didn't matter what boneheaded thing he did, or how many times he broke a date because of a case. She always forgave him and made him feel like a bigshot. Though what she saw in him always perplexed him. She was gorgeous, younger than him by almost a decade, and her family was loaded. He'd met her before he'd made lieutenant. Just a broke cop who had worked a case when her family's home had been broken into.

  
He'd been moonstruck the moment he saw her, and after he'd recovered the stolen items, he'd taken a chance and asked her out. Could've knocked him over with a feather when she not only accepted but said she'd been wondering what she'd have to do to get a date out of him. From then on he'd been smitten. As soon as he got a promotion, he went out and bought a ring. It wasn't much, and he knew he couldn't offer her the life she was accustomed to, but he knew he was going to love her until he died and hoped that would be enough.

  
She'd accepted, much to her family's chagrin, and now he was in the process of getting duded up for his engagement party. The tux was second hand, and his shoes were still thin at the soles, but he did make a pretty dapper picture if he said so himself. Whistling to himself he finished tying his bowtie and picked up the phone. "Operator? Yeah, give me Gramercy 1-8401, and make it snappy, huh?" Jim waited, fidgiting with his cuff links and looking over the tux to make sure that there weren't any errant stains or snags. He wanted to look his best for the party. Not that it would change Clarice's mother's opinion of him, but at least he wouldn't feel so out of place rubbing elbows with all of the Winston's hoity toity society types. The only reason he was doing this was for Clarice. He didn't go in much for snobby soirees.

  
Hearing the operator saying that the number had been reached, he waited until he heard Clarice on the line and then spoke. "Hey baby. Just finished getting dressed. I need to make a stop off at the precinct to put my John Hancock on some paperwork and then I'm all yours for the rest of the evening."

  
On the other end of the line he could hear his fiancee reply. "Can't it wait until morning, Jim? The party starts in an hour. You should be here when everyone starts to arrive."

  
Jim just brushed it off, knowing that Clarice would give in to him. "Baby, the station is on the way. It'll only take me fifteen minutes tops. I'll be there before the shindig gets going. Don't worry. Besides, even if I get hung up for a couple minutes all you society types are always fashionably late. It'll be fine."

  
There was some trepidation in Clarice's voice when she spoke, but there was also unconditional adoration. "Well...alright. Just please try to get here on time! This party means so much to Mother!" Jim rolled his eyes. His mother-in-law to be was a nice enough dame for old money, but he always felt like she was quietly judging him and always finding him wanting when it came to measuring up to her daughter. Fortunately, Clarice was sure enough about him that she'd talked the old lady into the marriage anyhow.

  
"I'll be there, Clarice. It's a promise. See you soon." After getting an uneasy goodbye from his fiancee, Jim hung up the phone and headed out of his little rented room. End of the month he'd be moving out. He and Clarice had picked out a little two room love nest within walking distance of his station house. It wasn't much, but with a wife to look after Jim was determined to keep climbing the ranks until he could buy her a house of their own. She'd offered to ask her mother for the money for one right off the bat, but Jim didn't want to be seen as a charity case by her family. He'd stand on his own two feet, by God. It might not have been the fine style that Clarice was accustomed to, but it was honest, and he'd made it clear that she either took him as he was and let him be the breadwinner, or he didn't want any part of her, as much as it would kill him to break it off.*  
*Making his way out of the building, he caught a cab to the station to make sure that he'd be getting to the party as soon as possible. But when he got out of the cab and paid off the driver, the plan for the evening started to change.

  
A stoolie that fed him information in exchange for a couple bucks here and there was waiting in front of the station and waved him over. The little rat fink looked the detective up and down and smirked. "Nice monkey suit, they making formal arrests these days?"

  
"Never you mind. I'm in a hurry, so start spilling or get out of my way."

  
The stoolie raised his hands and smiled a weasly smile. "Okay, okay. I got a tip about 'Gat' Benson's boys. They're knocking over a warehouse full of furs down by the river. Should be turning up there just about now, in fact. What're you gonna do about it?"

  
Jim grabbed the man by his shirtfront and pulled him closer, looking at him with a deadly serious glare. "You're sure about this? Is Gat going to be there himself?"

  
The stoolie shrugged, trying to brush Jim off. "Could be. Didn't hear for sure. So what's this worth to you?" Jim glowered at him hard, trying to read whether he was lying about knowing more or not. There wasn't time to knock the whole truth out of him, though, but he could tell there was something he was holding out on. But he had to get to the party. And more important, he needed to get to that warehouse. He'd been after Gat for months. Always just a step behind. He hadn't even been able to catch any of his gang at anything that would stick. He'd gotten tantalizingly close, but they'd always had to let them go in the end. But if he could catch some of his guys red handed, even if Gat wasn't with them, he might be able to lean on them to get enough to arrest Gat himself.

  
"Which warehouse?"

  
The small rat of a man spilled where to find the gang and Jim let him go. "Go in the station house. Tell the captain what you told me and have him send some men behind me. When I get back I'll pay you off for the information. Wait here."

  
The stoolie nodded as Jim turned and hailed another cab, calling after him. "Sure, sure. Better hurry, gumshoe." And as Jim got into the cab and told it to hurry to the warehouse, the little rat of a man chuckled to himself and started walking down the sidewalk away from the station house. There wouldn't be any help coming for Corrigan this time.

* * *

When Jim arrived at the docks, he could see the warehouse in question with an unmarked truck parked by the loading area. He could see some shady looking men furtively moving boxes of furs out of the warehouse and into the truck. They were most definitely Benson's boys, but he couldn't tell yet if Gat was with them or not.

  
He wished he'd brought his gun, but who knew he was going to need it tonight of all nights? Still, he thought that there would be backup coming right behind him, so he moved in closer. After all, he'd been the one busting his ass to catch these mooks for months. He wanted to be front and center when the backup arrived so he wouldn't lose the credit.  
*A collar this big wouldn't hurt his designs on another promotion in the near future, after all. "Sorry, Clarice. Wait for me." He whispered to himself. Hopefully he would only be a little late, and Clarice would understand and be proud of him once he explained himself. She knew how important this case was to him.

  
Creeping into the warehouse, he watched as the men went through and picked out the boxes with the most expensive furs to fence. Something in his gut told him to stay put, and although he usually trusted his instincts, he was just too close to closing the case. He needed to get just a little closer so he could clearly hear what they were saying. Maybe it would lead him to the rest of the gang. To Gat.

  
Unfortunately, he should have listened to his gut. As he moved behind some crates and climbed up to peer over them, the slats on one gave out with a loud SNAP and he lost his footing, falling to the ground hard and drawing the attention of the gang.

  
Never being one to run from a fight, Jim decided to try to bluff long enough for his backup to arrive, so he quickly scampered to his feet and announced loudly, "Put your hands up! You're all under arrest! This place is surrounded, so if you don't want this to turn into a shootout, just lay the stolen merchandise down and stay still!"

  
The response was that the thugs did indeed drop the stolen items, but they drew their guns instead and fired at Jim. He dove out of the way, but not before taking one in the side. It hurt like the very devil, but he still trusted that if he could hold on for just a little while longer, the cavalry would come.

  
The gunfire subsided and a familiar voice rang out. "You dead yet, Corrigan?" Gat Benson. So he was here after all.

  
"Not yet. And the entire 13th precinct is about to come down on your head if you don't surrender!"

  
The entire gang burst into laughter and he could hear footsteps coming toward him. He needed to move, and fast. Getting up, he tried to make for the door, wincing from the pain of his injury and leaving a trail of blood behind him. He could hear Gat speaking again after he'd finished laughing. "Ain't nobody coming to save you this time, Corrigan. You've been set up." Jim froze cold when he heard those words. Set up. That fucking stool pigeon had walked him right into a trap! And he'd been so eager to nail Gat to the wall that he'd waltzed right into it like a sucker!

  
He had to get out of there. If he didn't, he was going to die. Why hadn't he just gone to the party? Passed this off to someone else and gone to see his loving Clarice? Oh God...he was never going to see her again. They were going to kill him and she would think he'd just stood her up. Right until they found his body. IF they found his body. He had to get out for Clarice! She couldn't be allowed to think that he's jilted her. Not even for a minute!

  
He made a break for the door and as he came out from behind his cover of boxes he felt something slam against the side of his head. He didn't know what they'd hit him with, but they'd whacked him plenty hard. He blacked out and hit the ground with a thud as Benson and his men moved in to surround him. Gat smiled with evil intent and made sure that Corrigan was still breathing before turning to one of his men. "Get the cement."

  
  


* * *

Jim slowly started to crawl upward out of the blackness that seemed to have swallowed him. His head was killing him, his side hurt even more. What had happened? He had gotten a tip and gone to find...Gat! Gat Benson!

  
Opening his eyes with a groan, he was disturbed to find that he couldn't move and that he was cold. When he was able to focus he could see that he'd been sat inside an old oil drum that had been filled up to his chest with cement. And that was just so far. Gat was staring down at him with a vicious smile. "There you are, Corrigan. I wasn't sure you'd come around before we were done."

  
Jim burned with fury as he tried to lift his arms out of the still wet cement. He couldn't budge them an inch. He must've been tied up as well. "You dirty son of a bitch! When I get out of this I'm gonna break every bone in your damn body!"

  
Gat chuckled. "My dear detective, you're in no position to be threatening anyone." He gestured and another load of cement was added, bringing the level up to Jim's chin and forcing him to look up at Gat lest he swallow some. "You brought this on yourself, you know. If you hadn't been so tenacious, such a pain, it wouldn't have come to this. I even had one of my boys offer you money a while back to look the other way and you sent him back with a black eye. Not very nice. But now you're not going to be a problem any more." Gat smiled, and Jim could see pure evil glinting in his eyes. "And don't worry about that pretty girlfriend of yours. I'll make sure she gets flowers."

  
Jim erupted in rage, thrashing as much as he was able to inside the cement filled barrel as he desperately attempted to free himself. "Gat you stay the hell away from her or I swear to God I will kill you myself! You hear me?!"

  
Benson looked away from Corrigan, a cool, satisfied smirk on his features. "Finish it." Jim could see him turn and start to walk away as the last of the cement was poured into the barrel, covering him completely.

  
Everything went pitch black as the thick, grainy substance covered his head. It flowed into his nose, his mouth, stung at his eyes and plugged his ears. He screamed into it, choking on the wet cement. Panic overtook him as he tried desperately to free himself. To stand and raise his head above the level of the cement. Anything. Anything for one more breath!

  
The effort exhausted what air was in his lungs quickly, and he choked on the cement as it filled his mouth and smotherd him. He was going to die. He was dying. But that didn't stop him from trying to escape. He managed to wriggle one hand free. Yes. Good. Maybe...maybe if he could grab the edge of the barrel he could pull himself up. His fingers broke the surface of the cement and he could feel cool air on them. Sweet air! So close!

  
The hand fumbled, trying to feel for the edge of the barrel, but it had been too long. Jim felt himself starting to slip. His lungs burned. No! Not like this! Clarice! Clarice....

* * *

A couple of men had been left to make sure that Corrigan didn't pull a Houdini and give them the slip. They saw the fingers of one hand poke out and blindly fumble for a few seconds. But before they could do much of anything about it, the fingers stilled and did not move again.  
Looking at each other with a smirk, they knew that they wouldn't be having troubles from Detective James Corrigan again. Now they just had to wait for the cement to finish hardening enough to throw it in the river.

* * *

Jim woke with a start. He felt disoriented, but at least he didn't hurt anymore. The backup must have come after all. Gat was lying! But then, why wasn't he in a hospital bed? Where was he, anyhow?

  
He looked around, but everything was strange. It almost was as though he was underwater. But that couldn't be. He wasn't drowning. Of course, once he realized that, he also realized that he wasn't breathing at all. What was happening? Looking around, he saw a barrel lying in the silt next to him. A chill washed over him as he realized it was filled with cement and he could see fingers--his fingers--poking out from the top. No. That wasn't possible! That would mean he was looking at his own body!

  
Kneeling down, he reached out and tried to touch the barrel, but his hand just passed through it. No...no. That had to mean....Before he could completely let the realization sink in, he became aware a light. Or, that was the best way he could describe it, anyway. Somehow he knew that it wasn't a real light. It was more like a feeling. Calling to him and promising peace. An end to pain. An end to suffering. All he had to do was let go.

  
And he wanted to. But then he caught one last look at his body, and he was filled with an impotent fury. A feeling of being cheated! He had been murdered! And with his body dumped here in the river and no one knowing that he had gone after Gat, no one would ever know! Gat would get away with it! Filled with a sense of overwhelming injustice Jim gave a primal scream as he stood next to his corpse with tears dissipating into the water around him.

  
Again the light appeared, but it was somehow different this time, and Jim felt himself being pulled toward it. Up and away, across layers of perception until he was in a place that he had never seen and couldn't describe if he tried. There seemed to be nothing and everything contained within the area he found himself in, and from the ether a soundless voice spoke to him.

  
_**JIM CORRIGAN. YOU HAVE BEEN MURDERED AND YOUR DESIRE FOR RIGHTEOUS VENGEANCE HAS BEEN HEARD. AS YOU WALKED THE EARTH SEEKING TO PUNISH EVIL IN LIFE, SO NOW YOU WILL DO SO IN DEATH. YOU SHALL AVENGE THE BLOOD OF THE MURDERED DEAD. YOU SHALL SEEK OUT EVIL AND ERADICATE IT. YOU SHALL BECOME A SPECTRE AMONG YOUR FELLOW MEN.** _

  
Jim stood, staring into the void and trying to seek the source of the soundless voice that seemed to come from everywhere. "Yes! I want the chance to avenge my death! To say goodbye to Clarice! Please give me that so I can have peace!"

  
The voice spoke again, reverberating to the very core of Jim's being.

**_TO HAVE VENGEANCE IS TO FORGO PEACE. IF YOU ACCEPT THIS MISSION, YOU CANNOT REST AFTER ACHIEVING YOUR RETRIBUTION. YOU MUST SEE THIS MISSION THROUGH TO ITS END._ **

  
Jim, always a bit rash, didn't think through the consequences of this bargain completely. All he knew was that he needed to make sure that Gat didn't ever get close to Clarice. He had to protect her! "Anything. Just let me go back and see to Benson!"

  
_**VERY WELL. RETURN, AND BECOME THE SPIRIT OF VENGEANCE!** _

  
Immediately after the Voice finished speaking, Jim felt himself forced out of the endless place. Back to earth. Back to the bottom of the river. He could feel a change within him. As though another being had been fused with him. There was an overwhelming amount of new information flooding into his brain! And he knew that he could do nearly anything he could imagine now.

  
For starters, he willed himself upward, floating up and out of the river, without a drop of water clinging to him. He hung in the air a moment, reveling in the sensation of this newfound and unusual power. His eyes gleamed with holy fire as he considered his new mission. Vengeance!

  
Landing softly on the ground, he happened to glance down at himself and notice he was still wearing the second hand tuxedo. Eyes returning to their normal green, he suddenly remembered Clarice! The party! How long had he been in that other realm? Forgetting about his new powers and mission he ran to the nearest busy street and hailed a cab to take him to the Winston house. Once there he was heartsick to find almost all the lights out. Rushing up to the door, he rang the bell. More lights turned on after a moment and Clarice answered the door and almost burst into tears. "Jim! Where have you been? The party ended hours ago! You never showed up, and I called the station house and they said you never came in. Someone saw you talking to an informant out front and then you rushed off! What happened?"

  
How was he supposed to tell her? Especially when right now he wasn't even sure he believed it himself. It was fantastical, after all. "I...got a tip on Benson's gang and couldn't wait on it. I have enough now to take care of Gat and his men. I'm so sorry I didn't call."

  
Clarice just smiled at him indulgently and fell into his arms. "I'm just glad you're safe, Jim!" After a moment, though, she pulled away suddenly. "What on earth were you doing? You're so cold! And what happened to your hair?" She reached up to brush a newfound lock of pure white hair among his usual bright red hair. The words shook Jim and he backed away from her with a look of terror that puzzled her. "Jim? Darling, what's wrong?" She reached for him again, but he shook his head and moved away.

  
"Not now Clarice. I'm sorry about the party. I'll make it up to you, but right now I have to go! I'll call on you tomorrow!"

  
And before she could say anything else, he turned and ran. It wasn't a dream. He was dead. He ran all the way back to his rooming house, making himself invisible as he ran into the building and up the stairs to cloister himself in his room. He needed to be alone. He needed time to process this. Once he was finally in his room, he sank to the floor, looking at his shaking hands and shuddering as he saw them flash from a healthy flesh color to stark white and back again.

  
"What am I?"  
  



	2. Part 2

**July 24, 1940**

  
**New York City**

Jim Corrigan didn't sleep that night. Why should he? Dead men didn't need to sleep, did they? Instead he sat up and tried to get his mind straight. What was he? A ghost? He'd been able to touch Clarice, hail a cab. Surely a ghost couldn't do that. And yet, he knew deep down that he was dead. That he'd seen his body encased in cement at the bottom of the river. He also knew that he wasn't alone in his head anymore. Not exactly, although it wasn't like he was hearing voices. It was just...a feeling.

  
Getting up, he walked to his bureau and looked at his reflection, leaning forward and bracing himself on his palms until he was almost nose to nose with the glass. He tried to ignore the fact that he didn't leave any signs of breath on the mirror. "Okay, whatever you are, show yourself. If you're going to be hitching a ride in me I ought to know who you are." There was an odd sensation, like something moving around inside of him. Not painful, but certainly odd. Jim stumbled back, surprised and alarmed at the sensation. A green miasma flowed from him, coalescing into a stark white form in a green cloak, connected to Jim through a wispy tendril of ectoplasm.

  
_"I AM A PART OF YOU NOW. I AM THE SPECTRE ENTITY."_

  
Jim tried not to show how much this ghastly thing that had apparently come from within him and was now somehow part of him shook him. He knew that what the figure was saying was true, though. And that this was where the powers he had sensed earlier came from. "But why? I can sense what you can do. What do you need with me?"

  
The Spectre Entity regarded Jim with something akin to annoyance. Through their connection Jim could tell that the Entity wasn't used to being questioned and that as far as it was concerned Jim wasn't doing things right. " _YOU KNOW. OR YOU COULD KNOW IF YOU WOULD MERGE COMPLETELY. YOU ALMOST DID LAST NIGHT, BUT YOUR MIND TURNED FROM THE MISSION. FINISH YOUR TRANSFORMATION. GIVE YOURSELF TO THE MISSION. LOSE YOURSELF TO VENGEANCE."_

  
Jim screwed up his face in confusion and a little bit of annoyance of his own. Lose himself? Not even for revenge! He didn't want to be a puppet for this...thing. "Nothing doing! Listen, I don't mind doing this mission I've been given, but I'll do it on MY terms."

  
The spirit before him smiled slowly, almost as though it was amused by him in some way. That was probably better than making it angry. _"YOU_ _HAVE A STRONG WILL. I WILL ANSWER YOU, THEN. I MUST HAVE A HUMAN HOST TO FULFILL MY FUNCTION. YOU ARE THAT HOST._ "

  
Jim didn't know how he felt about that. But he could feel that the Spectre was being honest with him. "So. What now?"

  
The smile grew a bit wider, as though the Spectre already knew what Jim was thinking, which of course he did. " _THAT IS UP TO YOU, JIM CORRIGAN._ " And with that the Spectre resolved itself into a mist and flowed back into Jim's body, leaving him still rather perplexed, but a little more sure of himself. He knew the first thing he needed to do. He needed to go to work. He had some scores to settle.

  
Changing clothes into a regular work suit, he left the boarding house and headed to the station house. His captain immediately began to teasingly chew him out for not stopping in the night before to sign his paperwork. He didn't notice that the stoolie from the night before was hanging around nearby to make sure that no one would be able to pin Jim's expected disappearance on him or his boss. Seeing Jim walking around alive and well without so much as a scratch on him made him turn pale and run off as fast as he could to inform Gat of this development.

  
Meanwhile, Jim got down to business with the captain. "Yeah, yeah. I already heard it from Clarice, but I do my job. You're going to want to send some boys down to the fur warehouse by the docks. Gat Benson and his mugs hit it last night. It was a setup. Nearly got me killed. I'm just lucky that Gat's men are too stupid to know when cement hasn't hardened completely and I was able to crawl out of the river. But I saw him with my own eyes. We can nail him for breaking and entering, theft, and attempted murder of a police officer. And I want someone sent around to Miss Winston's house. I don't want to take the chance that he'll do something to her because I might have told her something."

  
The man nodded with a wide grin. "You're one lucky bastard, Jim. And a stupid one. I should have your hide for being reckless enough to go after Gat by yourself, but I'm just glad we have enough to go after him now, so I'll let it slide." While the captain started barking orders to a few of the uniformed officers, Jim went to his desk to get his notebook. He needed to find Gat, and although he could feel the Spectre churning within him, he didn't yet realize just what his powers could do to help him find a perp. Jim tended not to be a wildly imaginative sort, so his newfound powers were something he was going to have to get used to using.

He was well and truly absorbed in tracing the likely places that Gat might have been hiding out when a call came through to the station that would have stopped his heart cold if he weren't already dead. The officer that had gone to Clarice's house had called in to report that Miss Winston had been kidnapped. Gat Benson had sent some of his men to her home and taken her just before the officers from the station had arrived.

  
Jim immediately leapt up from his desk and headed toward the door as his captain called after him "Where the hell do you think you're going?" Looking back over his shoulder, his look could have froze almost anyone's blood.

  
"I'm going to get my fiancee."

  
Jim knew that Gat was trying to draw him out. Someone must have seen him heading to the station and called Gat to tell him that he was still alive. And since Gat wanted him, there was bound to be something left behind to tell him where to find her.

  
He didn't have to go all the way to Clarice's house, though. The stoolie from the night before was waiting for him. He was the one who had called Gat from a payphone down the street. Furious enough to see red when he laid eyes on the man, Jim grabbed him by the lapels of his shirt and lifted him off his feet with a snarl. "You miserable rat! It's not enough that you sell me down the river! Why drag Clarice into this! She's got nothing to do with it!"

  
The little weasel just smiled. He knew that Jim wouldn't punch him out or kill him. He needed him to find his fiancee. "Wrong. She's your girl. And if you'd have just died like you were supposed to, she wouldn't have needed to be drug into this. If you want her back, you're going to need to go alone. Mr Benson has unfinished business with you, gumshoe."

  
Jim shook the smaller man and screamed in his face* "Tell me where she is! Tell me now before I knock your block off!"

  
The stoolie started to look a little worried. He'd never seen Jim that angry before, and he'd seen the detective in some pretty foul moods. But that didn't stop him from being a little cocky. Gat had promised he'd be bailed out and paid well for delivering the message. And he figured Corrigan didn't dare do anything too awful to him right in front of the station. "Temper temper, detective." The man reached into his pocket and held up a small folded piece of paper. "I got the address right here. Remember. Alone." Jim let go of the man and snatched the paper from him. Shooting him a final, murderous glare that actually made the man shrink back from seeing something not quite human behind his eyes, Jim took off running, not willing to spend the time trying to flag down a cab during the morning rush in that part of town.

  
The stoolie figured that he was off the hook. That Corrigan was too consumed with finding his girl to deal with him and that he could collect his cash when this was over and quietly disappear. As he started to walk away though, his appearance started to alter and change. Within two steps he had become the feathered rat Jim had always known him to be. The stool pigeon was now a literal pigeon, crawling out of a pile of now vacant clothing and flying away.*

* * *

When Jim reached the address, he didn't hesitate. He didn't know if he could be killed again, but he knew that no matter what Gat Benson and any of his men that were inside were not going to walk out again. Once inside he saw Gat and two armed goons, and back in the corner was Clarice, tied to a chair and looking absolutely terrified. Jim narrowed his eyes and closed the door behind him.

  
Gat turned to him with the look of someone who thought they had squished a roach, only to see it come crawling along the floor moments later. "It seems my men managed to botch your execution last night. Don't worry, they've been taken care of. I don't like people who lie to me, and the assured me that you were dead when they threw you in the river. This time, I'm not going to leave any room for error. Ventilate him." Gat snapped his fingers and the two men turned and aimed their guns at him, sending a lead barrage toward the form of Corrigan.

  
"JIM!!!!!!" Clarice screamed. But Jim did not fall. He didn't know what would happen when the bullets hit him, but it turned out that the answer was nothing. They passed through him as easily as if through thin air.

  
"If you've any more bullets to waste, go right ahead. But I'm telling you now, it's over." Jim stepped forward and the first good launched himself at him. It didn't deter Corrigan one bit. The moment the thug laid hands on him, he shrieked, his skin starting to age and disintegrate until within seconds he was nothing more than a skeleton. The macabre figure stood still for a moment, still screaming though it had no tongue or lungs, until with a wave of Jim's hand the former criminal collapsed into a pile of bones.

  
Seeing the fate of the first man, Gat's eyes widened and he attempted to make a run for it. At the same time the second thug raised his gun again. Jim vanished from sight for a moment, which only made the two men fear more once they were unable to see him. Jim could feel the Spectre within him, urging him to test his wings and use his powers to finish this. Intoxicated by the rush of vengeance, Jim didn't even try to resist the suggestions of the Spectre. He split himself into a duplicate, one appearing directly behind the gunman, and the other directly in front of Gat. "You're not leaving. You have too many crimes to answer for. Among them, my murder!" The image of Jim shimmered and changed into the Spectre, eyes reflecting nothing but death.

  
" _LOOK INTO MY EYES GAT BENSON. LOOK AND SEE YOUR DOOM._ "

  
The mobster was unable to resist. He stared into the eyes of the Spirit of Vengeance and immediately fell to the ground stone dead. As the Spectre looked down on him, feeling satisfied at his work, he felt at peace. He had gotten his vengeance and now Jim wanted to rest in peace. Then he heard a shot ring out. Lifting his head, he saw the gunman try to shoot the duplicate Corrigan, who simply reached out and touched him, causing him to begin unraveling from the feet up until he was gone completely. But the shot that had failed to hit Corrigan had hit another mark instead.

  
" _CLARICE!_ "

  
The Spectre's eyes widened in horror as he saw that the bullet had hit her in the chest. Drawing the duplicate back into himself, the visage of the Spectre shifted immediately back to Jim's features as he rushed over to cradle Clarice in his arms. She wasn't dead yet, but she was very close. Another breath and she'd be gone. He didn't know how he knew it, but he was certain.

  
"No. No, no, no. Please Clarice, hold on."

  
He felt her heart stop. Saw her soul pull itself from her body and start to rise. He rushed after it, calling after her. "No, please God no!"

  
Then everything seemed to fall away. He was in that place that the Voice had spoken to him before. And he heard it once again.

  
_**YOU HAVE NO CLAIM ON THE DEAD. YOU MUST LET HER GO.** _

  
Jim shook his head, trying to fight back tears."No! You can't! It isn't her time! If it hadn't been for me, she'd still be alive! You have to let me save her! I know if you let me I have the power to save her!"

  
**_YOU HAVE NOT MERGED WITH THE SPECTRE AS COMPLETELY AS THOSE WHO HAVE COME BEFORE YOU. YOU SAID YOU WISHED FOR PEACE AFTER YOUR VENGEANCE. YOU MAY TAKE IT. BUT IF YOU WISH TO KEEP THIS POWER AND RECALL HER SPIRIT BEFORE IT CROSSES OVER, YOU FORFEIT THIS OPPORTUNITY FOR PEACE._ **

  
Jim fell to his knees within the void. He did want peace. But how could he truly have it if he knew that Clarice was dead because of him? He had been careless in acquiring his vengeance. Allowed an innocent to die because of it. "Please. Just let her live. Let me save her. I don't want peace if this is the price of my vengeance." He whispered in a small, broken voice. He couldn't live or die with an innocent soul on his conscience.

  
There was a moment of silence before the Voice answered. _**WE HAVE HEARD YOUR PETITION AND CHOOSE TO GRANT IT. YOU SHALL REMAIN THE SPECTRE. REMEMBER: YOU HAVE CHOSEN THIS PATH.**_

  
Before Jim could even think, he was back in the hideout, holding Clarice. He could feel that time was stopped, rewound to the instant before her heart stopped beating. He laid a hand on her wound and kissed her lips, healing the injury and dissolving the bullet into nothing. When he restarted time, he ensured that Clarice would sleep and that she would remember none of what had happened. As far as she was concerned, she had been unconscious for her entire abduction. It was the kindest thing he could think to do for her.

  
Lifting her in his arms, he could feel how warm and alive she was. It broke his heart because he knew that he couldn't marry her now. She deserved better than a dead man. She deserved to have a life and be happy. He was going to have to let her go. He ensured that they would not be seen and carried her in his arms as he flew quickly to her home. Tucking her into bed he leaned down and gave her one last kiss. He would let her sleep a while longer, and then he would call her and break the engagement.

  
"I'm sorry, Clarice. But I can't let you give your life to a ghost. I hope you'll be happy."

  
And with that, he faded from sight.


End file.
